


Gay Bar

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Gay Bar, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Season/Series 02, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:17:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6950278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>like the innocent type...deer in the headlight...rocking me all night</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gay Bar

Louanne Katraine has never been accused of lacking balls, even though she, in fact, doesn't have testicles. But that's how Kat likes it, being known as the smartass who doesn't take no for an answer, who'll do something even though it's not the best idea because she's _sure_ , and knowing that even Starbuck can't quite shake her off.

Despite her whole "you're scared you're gonna be forgotten" spiel; Kat's got a family. Kat's not walking around with her head up her ass for someone she's not getting back. And Kat knows who she is, which is more than she can say for Starbuck.

Which is why she's here; it's been three months since she's been able to get away to the last girlfrakker club in the universe.

Nothing has apparently changed; that smart-ass cunt, Tory, is sure she's going to be working for the Roslin Administration soon now that cute-but-dumb Billy got his head blown off for that girl who does communications on The Bucket.

"I have political experience -- I was a _precinct captain_ ," Tory explains in an insistent and slightly tipsy voice to the girl whose hair was bright pink when they all started up this little pick-up venture. Now it's a dull hair-colored color, with faded pinkish tips. It's actually kind of hot, and Kat's liked the effect when she's watched the girl lick her after a drunken chat or three.

But Tory seems determined to go for the girl herself, and Kat rolls her eyes, gets some ambrosia from the eternally non-talking bartender, and gives herself a look-over in the mirror.

Yeah. Still hot. Even with the bruise Starbuck gave her, she looks a little butch but not too butch. Dangerous. Like Tia, Kat's first gf, the one with the leather jacket and the abusive brother who would smoke cigarettes and feel Kat up.

To this day, Kat gets turned on when someone smokes Tia's brand of cigarettes.

"Any new snatch around here?" Kat asks, leaning against the counter and looking at the same ol' crowd of women she's been trolling since the world blew up. Part of the appeal of the Galactica was repressed military pussy; unfortunately, that had turned out to be basically mythical.

Fucking Starbuck.

The bartender snorts and gives a toss of her head toward one of the darker corners of the little establishment. Kat looks.

There would appear to be a woman drinking alone in this place. Kat is on that like a bag of neckbones; she grabs her shot and another, clearly indicated drink, from the bartender before strolling over to the corner and handing the woman the glass.

"It's shit, but you look like you need a drink..." Kat begins, and then gets a good look at the woman.

Oh, frak Kat sideways. Why her? Is she being punished?

"I do," the woman says, bolting it back. "I lost someone yesterday."

"Yeah, I know," Kat mutters, looking down. "Um. I was going to hit on you, because you're the first new woman in this place in months, but um. I'm sorry?"

The President of the Colonies shrugs. "Don't be," she says quietly. "I'm here to get a good look at Miss Foster, but she would appear to be occupied."

Tory's got her hand on pink-haired girl's breast, who's licking her lips like they taste good, and Kat almost snickers; there is no room for subtlety in this joint.

"Yeah, that's Veronica -- or maybe Vanessa; she's pretty hot in the sack, but total ho," Kat says, leaning against the wall next to the gods-frakking-nuts president, who seems content that Kat do so. "Um, pardon my language."

But before the president can answer, Tory looks up and because Kat's thinking Roslin doesn't want to be made in a tacky girlfrakker joint, she shoves the president up against the wall and starts kissing her.

It is by far the dumbest thing Kat's done in a while, but it feels pretty frakking good, because the president is so surprised and lets Kat do it, lets Kat shove her into a wall and mack on her for a good thirty or forty seconds until Kat's sure Tory's gone back to Veronica or maybe Vanessa.

"What was that for?" the president asks when Kat pulls away and swallows. She's pretty hot for an older lady, even though they both just look kind of confused.

"Tory's kind of nosy, and I figured you didn't want people busting out you went to these kind of places, so I provided some cover, I guess," Kat says breathlessly.

"I see," Roslin says dryly. "She's looking this way again. Cover me."

Kat almost squeaks, but before she can formulate an answer of why that's kind of wrong, Roslin's hand is on the back of Kat's head and they're kissing again. This time, Kat's body is starting to rub up on the president's, and the president's got her hand in Kat's hair and is holding on.

"Gods DAMN," Kat manages when Roslin lets her up for air. "You keep this up and everyone's going to be looking at us, ma'am."

President Roslin leans forward and bites down on Kat's earlobe, sending shudders right down Kat's body as she licks up a tiny bit and whispers, "Call me Laura and get me out of here."

"Frak, yes," Kat says, nipples hard at the note of command in Roslin's -- Laura's -- voice. "This way."

She takes the president's hand and hustles them out, into the corridors and toward one of the two other rooms the bartender seems to have control over. One's locked -- which is for suck, because Kat likes that room better -- but thank the frakking gods, the other is not, and Kat shoves the president in and locks the door.

This is right when Kat realizes the president might not have meant _get me out of here_ in a sex way.

"Um," Kat says, shifting her weight as the ache in her pants begged for resolution, one way or the other. "Did you mean to get out to like, a shuttle, Madam President?"

"I said to call me Laura," the president repeats, drawing her hand down Kat's cheek and then over her bare shoulder. "And I think this will do nicely."

"I'm Kat," Kat says, shivering. "It's nice to meet you, Laura."

Laura smiles. "Likewise," she says, moving her thumbs over Kat's tits, making them feel heavy and sensitive. Making Kat aware of the trickle of sweat rolling down the back of her neck, and how very much her clothes are clinging in a wrong way. "You look familiar."

"I'm a pilot on Galactica. I've seen you a couple of times," Kat says, each breath sending another pulse of want right to her aching cunt. "I took out Scar."

Laura regards her with heavy-lidded eyes, moving one hand from Kat's breast and to her lips instead, tugging it down. Kat breathes on it hard, heart starting to pound.

"Then your people owe you a debt of gratitude," Laura says, breathing raggedly as Kat licks the tip of her thumb. "Oh -- that feels really--"

Kat's on it now, lashing Laura's thumb with her tongue and teeth, using her other hand to pull Laura closer by gripping the woman's hip and tugging.

"I don't need gratitude," Kat snarls at last, clothes heavy and sticky. "I need to get the frak out of my clothes now."

The president's eyes sparkle for half a second, and then she's pressed up against Kat, grinding her hips into Kat's so that everything is that much worse cuz oh, frak, Kat wants to strip naked and get laid. Even if she is putting the moves on the possibly drunk and definitely grieving president.

The president whose tongue is halfway down Kat's throat and who moves like she's done this before.

"Yes, you do," Laura says as she pulls back and takes off her jacket.

Kat strips like three or four Centurions are coming after her (and remembers that Laura was there, that day, when Apollo shot out the Centurions on Galactica, and that might be where they know each other from), and the air on her skin feels good and spangly and not very cooling, because the president, who is very carefully setting aside her clothing, is looking at her hungrily.

"We good?" Kat asks, feeling like a scumbag nobody with every grammar error.

"Yes, Kat, we're good," Laura agrees. She's sitting on the twin cot that makes this room Kat's least favorite makeout spot, but when Laura reaches out, Kat sways and walks forward, forgetting about the squeaking and the feeling that the damn thing was always about to break under squirming, frakking naked women.

And then that selfsame hand is between Kat's legs and oh, gods frak, she is wet and turned on and letting Laura touch her there. Letting, frak -- she's trying to get more of those fingers in her, whimpering as side of thumb touches side of clit.

Kat's knees are gonna give out, so she sinks down, straddling Laura and whining-moaning before noticing that hey, there was bare neck and shoulder to suck on.

And to Kat's delight, Laura likes that. Kat's always liked screamers and their president starts moaning and wailing and finger-banging Kat with abandon, which just keeps Kat wet and hot and screwing herself down against those fingers until she comes like an avalanche, slick and sticky.

"I needed this," Kat says, thinking that she's in accord with her president, who Kat is easing down against the cot with many kisses and sticky touches. And rubbing up against like a needy cat. "Bad."

Roslin drags Kat in for a long, suck-face kiss while Kat writhes on top of her, but Kat's not done. Kat's already had her first come of the night, and fun as it was, she wants to get Laura off.

Because oh, frak, ain't nobody had that pleasure in this fleet, and Kat knows it. So Kat pulls away, starts licking a trail down to the woman's stomach and swirls the belly button, stroking Laura's thighs with the palms of her hand while Laura's whimpers and moans get louder and louder.

The people in the next room thump on the wall and Kat giggle-growls, biting against Laura's hip.

"Frakking deal with it," she mutters, parting thighs and lips and scraping her tongue against the wet-hot-sweet GOOD that's waiting for Kat.

Kat always likes this part best, the shriek as Kat buries her face in another woman's cunt and lets go of all her hang-ups, just licks and sucks like she's never going to eat another one.

Laura Roslin has a scream that's got Kat aching for more, for whatever they can negotiate out, because frak her. For an old lady, she's moving like she ain't never gotten it so good, and Kat loves feeling like she's giving the licking of a lifetime.

And there's something real hot about the way Laura's fingernails dig in, back arching up when Kat's nose gets into the picture.

There are so many good parts to this. Getting to frak a president, getting to frak the first new woman in months, giving a great lick-job, hearing that moan-scream...when Roslin finally stops convulsing from the multiple Kat gives her, Kat finally looks up and chuckles.

"I like that part," Kat says. "I like all your parts."

Laura sob-sighs some kind of half-assed laugh, looking down at her with big eyes.

"That was...thank you," she says shakily. "And come here."

Kat slides up Laura's body, pressing a kiss against the other woman's forehead.

"You're bossy," Kat says, because she's Kat, and she's not going to hold her tongue for anyone, let alone a president she's just eaten out.

"So I've been told," Laura says wearily. "Is this cot going to break?"

"It's lasted a thousand girlfrakking trysts, so probably not," Kat says. Laura laughs and Kat snickers and snuggles. "Plus, we get it as long as we need, so..."

"So wear ourselves out?" Laura suggests, stroking Kat's waist.

"I think you need it, and I want it, so why the frak not?" Kat says, smiling.

And as Laura's hand dips lower and Kat arches up, she thinks that being bold is really, really hot.

But hottest of all? Just plain getting off when you can.


End file.
